As they reached the main entrance and burst through the doors into the night air, sirens wailed in the distance. Growing louder. Multiple vehicles. Police, probably, responding to reports of gunfire at an exclusive event venue.
Cupid's head snapped toward the sound, panic flooding through him despite his millennia of experience. Getting caught now—with Tòumíng's body full of bullet holes and Ghost Claw wearing tactical gear with a gas mask—would be catastrophic.
"Do you have a getaway car?!" he demanded, still pulling Ghost Claw along as they moved with the fleeing crowd.
"Yes! In the parking lot!"
"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU PARK IN THE PARKING LOT?!" Cupid's voice rose to a near-scream, Tòumíng's vocal cords straining with the volume. "That's the DUMBEST place to park a getaway vehicle! The first place security checks! The first place police will lock down! Did you learn nothing from—"
He cut himself off, realizing arguing was wasting precious seconds. He grabbed her hand more firmly and started running, using the panicked crowd as cover.
As they ran, he raised the pistol and fired once more into the air.
BANG.
The effect was immediate. People who'd been moving quickly now broke into full sprints, screaming, shoving each other aside, the panic intensifying. Perfect. More chaos meant more confusion, more difficulty for security to identify specific individuals.
They reached the parking lot—a multi-level structure adjacent to the main building. Ghost Claw led them to the third level, to a vehicle that made Cupid do a double-take.
A Ford F-350. Massive. Bulky. The kind of truck that looked like it could survive a tank impact. Black, with tinted windows, sitting high off the ground on oversized tires.
"This is your stealth vehicle?!" Cupid gestured at the enormous truck.
"It has good cargo capacity!" Ghost Claw defended, unlocking it remotely.
Cupid didn't have time to argue further. He ran to the driver's side and hauled himself into the seat, his bullet-wounded leg protesting the movement but still functional thanks to blocked pain signals. Ghost Claw jumped into the passenger seat.
She reached for the ignition, clearly preparing to floor it and peel out of the parking structure—
"NO!" Cupid grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "Don't drive like an escaping convict! Drive like a panicked civilian who's fleeing a shooting! Moderate speed, visible fear, following traffic patterns!"
Ghost Claw blinked behind her gas mask, processing this. "That's... actually good tactical thinking."
"Seventeen thousand years of experience escaping bad situations," Cupid muttered, starting the engine and carefully backing out of the parking space. "You learn a few things. Now where are we going?"
"Safe house? I have three locations within—"
"Guanlan Lake neighborhood," Cupid interrupted, navigating through the parking structure at a reasonable pace despite every instinct screaming to floor it. "That's where I—I mean, my host—lives."
Ghost Claw's head turned sharply. "You live in Guanlan Lake? That's luxury residential. How does a nineteen-year-old miner afford—"
"Long story! Not important! Just DRIVE!"
She did, guiding him through streets that were now filling with emergency vehicles heading toward the Gentlemen's Mining Club building. Cupid kept the truck at moderate speed, following traffic laws, looking like just another civilian fleeing the area after a scary incident.
The drive took twenty-five minutes. By the time they reached the Guanlan Lake community gates, the adrenaline was starting to wear off and Cupid could feel the edges of the blocked pain signals beginning to leak through his control.
The security guard at the gate stepped out of his booth, hand raised to stop them. "Identification please, and—" He stopped mid-sentence, his flashlight beam landing on Cupid's face.
Or more specifically, on the bullet hole in Tòumíng's forehead.
Tòumíng's consciousness flickered back online at that moment, Cupid releasing control as the immediate danger passed.
"She's a friend," Tòumíng managed to say, his voice weak. Blood was still leaking from the head wound, creating a horrifying visual.
The guard's eyes went wide. "Sir, you have a—there's a bullet—you need an ambulance!"
"Just a graze," Tòumíng lied, the words coming out slurred. "Looks worse than it is. Please, just let us through."
The guard looked between Tòumíng's obvious bullet wounds, the enormous tactical truck, and Ghost Claw in her gas mask and cargo pants. Every part of this screamed "illegal activity."
But this was Guanlan Lake. Wealthy residents paid for privacy, not questions. And Tòumíng was a registered resident of Villa 221.
The guard sighed, clearly against his better judgment, and reluctantly opened the gate. "I'm logging this incident. If you're not at a hospital within the hour, I'm calling emergency services myself."
"Understood. Thank you."
Ghost Claw drove through, following Tòumíng's mumbled directions to Villa 221. The moment they pulled into the driveway, the pain signals Cupid had been blocking hit Tòumíng's brain all at once.
The bullet in his thigh. The one in his shoulder. The three in his skull. All of them registering simultaneously.
cupid screamed, the sound raw and agonizing, his body convulsing in the passenger seat.
Ghost Claw parked and immediately jumped out, running around to the passenger side. She opened the door, assessed Tòumíng's condition with professional efficiency, and made a decision.
She scooped him up in a bridal carry—her military-trained strength making the task easier than it should have been—and ran toward the front door.
She was raising her hand to knock when the door opened.
Měi Nán stood there, a towel wrapped around his wet hair, toothbrush still in his mouth mid-brush, shirtless and wearing only pajama pants. He'd clearly been in the middle of getting ready for bed.
His eyes landed on Tòumíng's bullet-riddled body, the blood, the obvious trauma.
The toothbrush fell from his mouth.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" The words came out garbled around the toothpaste foam.
He grabbed Tòumíng from Ghost Claw's arms with surprising strength and RAN into the villa, moving faster than Ghost Claw had seen any civilian move, his bare feet slapping against the marble floor as he sprinted toward the living room.
Ghost Claw followed, closing and locking the door behind them, her tactical instincts kicking in even as her brain tried to process whatever the hell was happening.
Měi Nán laid Tòumíng on the expensive leather couch, his hands already moving to assess the wounds, his expression shifting from panic to something more focused and professional.
"Medical supplies!" he barked at Ghost Claw. "Second floor, master bathroom, under the sink! GO!"
Ghost Claw ran.